


one-hundred.

by rachelbee



Series: Weekly Challenge [8]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, still hate sequels so this isn't a sequel, this is not a sequel okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 02:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelbee/pseuds/rachelbee
Summary: Week 8 for the weekly prompt. Set a few months after the events of 'six'.





	one-hundred.

**Author's Note:**

> Raise your hand if you squealed at the title. 
> 
> Let me clarify: this is NOT a sequel to 'six'. I hate sequels with a burning fiery passion, so this is more like a companion piece. 
> 
> Per usual, this was originally going to be something very different, but Lucy and Wyatt weren't coming out as I'd planned (Wyatt just really wanted to kiss her again, you know how he is) and this is what happened. I might write my other idea later on, since I was excited about exploring those plans, but I'm actually pretty happy with how this turned out. 
> 
> You might have to read 'six' before you read this, if you haven't already, to really understand what the hell these two are talking about.

Lucy stumbled, carrying Wyatt’s weight with her as they hobbled into the small inn they were staying in. The innkeeper looked up, alarmed at Wyatt’s slack-jawed look, his arm slung over Lucy’s shoulder, his face and lips a ghostly pale. His eyes were hooded, nearly shut entirely, but he was determined to stay awake for Lucy’s sake.

“Please,” Lucy gasped, struggling to hold Wyatt up. “I need help getting him to my room.”

The innkeeper, to his credit, immediately sprang into action, grabbing Wyatt’s other arm and swinging it over his shoulder, helping Lucy maneuver her way down the narrow hallway, stopping at the door.

“Wyatt,” Lucy whispered, and Wyatt’s head turned to her as she brushed her fingers over his cheek, her hand shaking. “I need you to tell me where the key is.” Her tone was strong, but the slight waver in her voice gave her away. She was scared.

Wyatt understood what she meant, though, because he nodded down toward his pocket before his head lolled to the other side and he let out a horrible groan. Lucy shushed him, gently brushing his hair from his forehead. She reached into his coat pocket, and even through the immense pain he was experiencing, his muscles jumped at the feel of her fingertips brushing against his chest. Lucy quickly extracted the key and slid it into the lock, sighing with relief as the door swung open.

“Thank you,” she breathed to the innkeeper as he helped her gently sit Wyatt on the double bed. Earlier, when they had booked the room, the team had agreed that Lucy would take the bed, Rufus would take the couch, and Wyatt would take the floor.

She’d be damned if he was taking the floor, now.

“Is he going to be alright? Does he need anything?” the innkeeper worried, his eyes still wide. Lucy nodded, smiling sweetly as Wyatt lay himself against the headboard with a guttural moan. She winced, her hand moving of its own accord to run through his hair, hushing him.

“Our friend is on his way with supplies, now,” she whispered as Wyatt’s eyes drifted shut. She smiled softly as she reluctantly drew her hand back and reached out to shake the innkeeper’s hand. “Thank you, again, for all of your help.”

The innkeeper smiled gently at her and nodded once more at Wyatt, nearly passed out on the bed, before exiting the room, closing the door gently behind him.

“Was he making eyes at you?” Wyatt mumbled before coughing. Lucy rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing him back as he tried to sit up. “Was he? I’ll kill him.”

“You’ve defended my honor enough today, Wyatt,” she whispered, and he let her push him back on the bed, her hand resting against his chest, right over his heart. He lay his hand on top of hers, turning his head to smirk at her, though she suspected it hurt more than it usually did.

“You’re worth fighting for, ma'am,” he murmured, and Lucy’s heart tightened as she closed her eyes.

She could’ve lost him, today.

He could’ve lost her.

That’s all they were thinking about as Rufus barged in, his arms full of brown paper bags stocked with medical supplies.

“I got everything you asked me to get,” Rufus wheezed, trying to catch his breath as Lucy quickly helped him unload the supplies. “And then some,” he mumbled, nodding to the amount of bags Lucy was currently unpacking.

“Rufus, did you clean out the general store?” Lucy chastised as she held up several different-sized bandages and jars of ointments. Rufus ducked his head as Wyatt huffed a soft chuckle before erupting into a coughing fit. “Did you at least get something for his cough? I can’t heal broken ribs, but I can fix that cold.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes as Lucy dug through the several bags Rufus had packed full of medical supplies. Rufus chuckled as he watched Lucy triumphantly pull out one jar of honey.

“Oh, that doesn’t look too bad,” Wyatt whispered as Lucy smirked, twisting the lid of the jar open and scooping a heaping spoonful out, nodding expectantly at Wyatt. “Well, wait, it doesn’t mean I need that much, Lucy.”

“Seriously, Wyatt?” Lucy sighed, sitting next to him on the bed, the spoon still poised in her hand. “Don’t be such a baby, you’re a soldier for goodness sake.” Wyatt’s cheeks colored. “Come on, just open your mouth. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Wyatt relented with a sigh and Rufus watched, holding back peels of laughter that were threatening to erupt at the many facial expressions Wyatt made as Lucy spoonfed him honey straight from the jar.

Wyatt didn’t like honey.

“If you’d taken the pills I left for you on the counter before we left, you wouldn’t be suffering right now,” Lucy reminded him gently as he looked up at her, still grimacing around the taste of honey. “I think that should be enough for now.” She screwed the lid back on the jar and rummaged through the bags again. “Rufus can you go put the kettle on?” she asked as she pulled a pouch of freshly made teabags out of one of the bags. Rufus nodded and left for the communal kitchen downstairs, leaving Lucy and Wyatt alone.

“Lucy, it’s just a cold,” Wyatt whispered as the door closed, and she turned to him, frowning. “You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Lucy sat on the edge of the bed again, running her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching over his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. She smirked, pleased with the effect she still had on him, and leaned in closer, their noses touching.

“You’re worth all the trouble,” Lucy whispered before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Wyatt groaned quietly, wanting to kiss her. He tried lifting his arm to reach out for her and pull her back into his chest, but she moved too far away before he could. “You _are_ still sick, though. You’ll have to refrain from kissing me until you get better.”

“Lucy, come on,” Wyatt whined and Lucy laughed as she continued unpacking the supplies Rufus had brought. “I can’t remember the last time I properly kissed you,” he mumbled as Lucy set out all the supplies on the small dresser across from the bed. She turned around, smirking at him.

“Three days, five hours ago,” she muttered under her breath, her cheeks coloring as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“ _Now_ who’s keeping track?” he teased her. “I think we’re well into triple digits now, by the way.” Lucy nodded, only partially listening as she made a mental inventory of all the supplies Rufus had gotten.

“We can keep some of this in the Lifeboat,” she whispered, frowning as she tried to think where they could store it all, and what would be safe to take from time period to time period. “That way, next time you get hurt, I don’t have to sit idly by and watch helplessly,” she trailed off, her voice breaking. She heard the squeak of bedsprings and didn’t protest when she felt his arms wrap around her middle, pulling her back into his chest as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Lucy,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. He didn’t say anything else, just held her. She sighed, leaning back against him, reveling in the feel of his chest pressed up against her back, strong and safe.

“You’re wrong, you know,” she mumbled, turning in his arms to wrap her arms around his neck. He frowned down at her, tilting his head. “We’re not in triple digits yet,” she clarified and he huffed a laugh as she grinned up at him. “We’re at ninety-seven.” She felt his arms tighten around her as he leaned down to brush his nose against hers.

“Well, now you _have_ to let me kiss you,” he murmured, his voice low and Lucy’s breathing hitched. He still had such an effect on her, even after the past few months they’d been somewhat secretly dating. “We’re so close to triple digits, it’d be a shame to pass up that opportunity.”

She didn’t protest when he lowered his lips to hers. Every time he kissed her was like the first time to her. They’d come so far since that measly number of kisses they began with. Ninety-one kisses later, and they were still just as in love with each other as they’d been when she found out he’d been keeping track of their kisses.

As he’d predicted, they’d been well into double digits the morning after. Lucy had continued keeping track of them, and knew Wyatt tried to. Once the numbers got higher, though, she knew he’d lost track. She wasn’t surprised he thought they’d already kissed over one-hundred times.

She knew the truth, though.

“Wyatt,” she whispered, pulling away. His grip had tightened around her, her body now completely pressed up against his, her fingers buried in his hair. She gently rested her forehead against his, and pulled back almost immediately.

He was very warm.

“How are you feeling?” she whispered, frowning up at him as she laid the back of her hand against his cheek. His eyes were closed and she knew him well enough to know he was in pain. “Here, take this off,” she instructed, her hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. He had enough sense to smirk at her as she lifted his shirt over his head, but it didn’t last as she pushed him back toward the bed.

“Lucy, I’m fine,” Wyatt tried, but even he knew his heart wasn’t in it. He felt like crap. Lucy merely shook her head as she helped him lay down, his head propped up by pillows. “At least stay with me,” he muttered, reaching out for her, his fingers tugging on the skirt of her dress.

She’d seen Wyatt shirtless many times, now, and _that_ she had lost track of. His chest was littered with small scars and bruises; his body was war-torn, after all. One scar stood out among the others today, though, in the low light. She reached out, her fingers brushing over the puckered skin just above his hip, where Rufus had pulled a bullet out of Wyatt and stitched him up in 1865.

That was because of her. He’d been protecting her and Rufus, and he’d gotten hurt. It was almost too much, he almost didn’t make it back. He’d been in so much pain. The twist of his mouth gave him away as he’d sat across from her on the return trip home, his hand wrapped around hers. He had clutched her hand like it was a lifeline, both of them drawing strength from each other as they made their way back to the present.

His hand found hers, now, his fingers squeezing hers tightly and she looked up to meet his eyes, unaware a few tears had escaped her eyes as she’d stared at his scar. He reached up with his other hand, brushing her tears away and pulling her closer to him.

“Hey, Lucy,” he whispered, trying to get a smile out of her. She tried to smile but she couldn’t. He’d been hurt so many times because of her, today included. “I’m fine, okay? I’m fine and alive and I love you,” he reminded her. She did smile at that; she loved hearing him tell her he loved her.

“I know,” she whispered, her soft smile quirking up into a smirk as she threw his favorite line back at him. “I love you, too,” she amended. He smiled up at her.

The door opened at that moment, and Lucy turned expectantly as Rufus came in, juggling three cups of hot water. Wyatt’s fingers were still wrapped around hers and she pulled away as she reached to take one of the teacups from Rufus before he dropped boiling water all over the floor.

“Thank you, Rufus,” she whispered as he set the other two cups down and she threw a teabag into each, steeping the tea. Rufus nodded at the bags that Lucy had re-packed when deciding what to bring with them on trips from now on.

“Do you want me to bring those back to the Lifeboat?” he offered, already scooping the bags up into his arms. Lucy nodded gratefully.

“There will be tea when you return,” she promised and he chuckled, heading out the door.

“If I’ve supposedly got a fever, shouldn’t I be eating something cold?” Wyatt mumbled as Lucy rolled her eyes good-naturedly, stirring a sugar cube into his mug. “Has ice cream been invented, yet?” he asked hopefully. She chuckled, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Ice cream has milk, Wyatt, which will not help your congestion,” Lucy reminded him as she handed him his cup of tea. He groaned but took a sip of the tea at Lucy’s expectant gaze. “Tea will help your congestion, and I’ll help you get your fever down.” Wyatt perked up at that, his suggestive smirk sliding into place as he raised an eyebrow.

“How do you plan on helping me with this fever, ma'am?” he breathed, his arm curling around her waist and pulling her further back onto the bed with him. She laughed as he pulled her against his chest, laying her hand on his cheek as she leaned in and kissed him.

Wyatt moaned as he pulled her tighter against him, and Lucy went willingly, turning to lay across his chest, her mouth still fused to his.

“Are you going to help me sweat it out?” he whispered against her mouth and she kissed him again, her tongue invading his mouth instantly. She sighed into the kiss, pulling away to catch her breath, smiling innocently down at him.

“One-hundred,” she whispered, disentangling herself from his hold as he watched her, taken aback. She laughed at his expression. “Sweating a fever out is a myth, by the way, and I’m not kissing you again until you get better.” Before Wyatt could whine about that, she fixed him with a hard look. “Bet you wish you’d taken your medicine _now_ , don’t you?”

Just as she’d expected, once they’d finally made it back to the present, he was adamant about taking his medicine every four hours and drinking plenty of orange juice.

It didn’t take them quite as long to get to two-hundred after that.


End file.
